


Shine on me

by Khim_Azaghal



Category: Being Human (UK)
Genre: Angst, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Other, Prostitution, Punk Era, unsolved angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 01:10:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13089282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khim_Azaghal/pseuds/Khim_Azaghal
Summary: London, 1979. Mitchell has left Herrick once again and tries to find relief in heroin.





	Shine on me

 

**Soho, London, May 1979.**

“Please! I’ll owe you a date! I’ll do whatever you want!” The young prostitute was on her knees, begging the drug dealer for a dose of heroin.

“I don’t care about a date with a bloody whore like you! Give me all the money or fuck off!”

“But I only have eighty pounds… Please!”

The girl whimpered, and her already smudged makeup kept on leaking across her cheeks along with her tears. In a desperate attempt to get what she wanted, she began to unbuckle the man’s belt. He didn’t protest.  
  
Once she was done, the dealer snagged the bills from her shaking hand and threw the dope on the ground. He laughed when she crawled through a puddle to catch the tiny packet of brown powder.  


********  


Mitchell had been following the prostitute since she had been conscious enough to get on her feet and walk to meet her dealer at the corner of the street.

Since he had left Herrick, the vampire had gone from one addiction to another, and junkies had become his new victims of choice. On his way to self-destruction, Mitchell had found some comfort in killing those preys. At least, their drugged blood helped him to reach some kind of ephemeral oblivion.

  
********

 

The small club was packed with dancers and loud punk music was blaring through the amps as The Ruts were playing. Mitchell was leaning against the bar, rested on his elbows, a bottle of beer in his hand and looking at the audience. He had just fed, and his system was slowly assimilating the drugged blood of the young prostitute he had drunk from in a dark alley of Soho half an hour ago. She hadn’t cried nor begged; in fact, she had barely felt a thing. It had been so easy, almost peaceful, and he had cradled her body in his arms for a few minutes when she had sagged, dead in his embrace, before leaving her among the garbage where she belonged.

The vampire’s mind was progressively being numbed by the drug and the alcohol. The more he was staring at the crowd, the more he felt like the people were moving in slow motion. Without noticing, Mitchell abandoned his beer on the counter and joined the people on the dancefloor.  
Caught by the beat of the music, his eyes unfocused and half-closed, he let himself be swallowed by the crowd in the dark room. It was so hot the people were dripping with sweat and Mitchell swayed with them, hypnotised by the repetitive rhythm and the harsh sound of the guitars.

The heroin’s euphoric effect still flowing in his veins, Mitchell was feeling calm and at peace with his demons. Gone were the sadness and the anguish. The world could crumble under his feet; he didn’t care.

The beat sped up with a new song, and the audience went crazy. Mitchell dived into the crowd again, but it felt more like a battle than a dance. Jumping and bouncing against one another, boys and girls got rid of their frustration through violent dancing. It wasn’t a struggle; it was a release.

Over the noise of the music, Mitchell heard a scream. Punks and rude boys were brawling in a corner of the room. Chaos spread like a trail of gunpowder, and most of the dancers deserted the dancefloor. Mitchell stayed and joined another type of dance, something more primeval, excited by the smell of blood freshly shed and the violent speed of the music.   
Oblivious to what was happening, the band didn’t stop playing.

“Hey, Mitchell!”

The vampire turned around as he heard Seth’s voice. Herrick’s minion was staring at him, a wide grin on his face.

“I knew I’d find you in this shithole.”

“What do you want, Seth?” Mitchell hissed, his hands balled into fists as adrenaline and anger took over his system.   
He knew Herrick would send someone after him soon or later, just like every time he had tried to escape his maker’s clutches. He would never be free. Never.

“Nothing. Just a little chat.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

Mitchell’s eyes bled to black in warning and Seth rose his hands in defence.

“Hey, easy tiger! I’m just here to deliver a message. Herrick wants you back.”

Mitchell shook his head and snorted. Of course, Herrick wanted him back.

“Go away, Seth,” Mitchell growled, “before I beat the shit out of you.”

Seth took a step backwards. He knew how Mitchell was when he was on heroin: perpetually on edge, unpredictable, dangerous.

“You’re lying to yourself, Mitchell!” Seth warned before stepping away. “You can’t survive on your own! You’ll be back! You always come back!”

“Go the fuck away!”

In an instant, Seth vanished out of the crowd. Mitchell sagged in relief, his back against a wall. His hands were shaking; soon he’ll need another fix. But for now, he focused on the heavy ska playing and joined the crowd in the dark and sultry room. All he wanted was to forget and numb the pain while outside, the monsters prowled.

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case you wanted a soundtrack to listen to, here's the album that inspired me to write this piece of angst: ["Grin and bear it" by The Ruts](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=duxlVaQG90I).


End file.
